Surrender of Soul
by Chiara Crawford
Summary: Because that’s what love was: the complete surrender of one’s soul.


Title: Surrender of Soul

By Atri/ Chiara Crawford

RATING: PG

WARNINGS: Mention of Suicide

CATEGORY: Romance, Introspective

PAIRING: Sparky

ARCHIVES: , Command Dynamics

SPOILERS: GitM

SUMMARY: Because that's what love was: the complete surrender of one's soul.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Stargate: Atlantis.

Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions.

I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).

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**Surrender of Soul**

"_Love partakes of the soul itself. It is of the same nature. Like the soul, it is a divine spark; it is incorruptible, indivisible, imperishable. It is a point of fire within us, which is immortal and infinite, which nothing can limit and nothing can extinguish. We feel it burning even in the marrow of our bones, and we see it radiate even to the depths of the sky."_

_Les Misérables_

They watched him warily, he knew, waiting for him to break. But he continued to soldier on. Nobody could understand his reaction or the lack of it. After having seen his depression when they first lost her, completely lost her, it was perhaps surprising.

He had been a wreck, then, not knowing what to do or how to deal with the fact that _she_ was gone. At one point, he had quit eating, sleeping and had bouts of anger in between his deep seated depression. There were times, when he had wondered how long it would be until Carter relieved him of his duty, how long it would be until he broke down completely.

Nothing had mattered, not his team or the new commander or Atlantis. There were times, when he had wanted to leave everything behind, whether it was done by searching for her or by jumping off their balcony. It had not mattered. He had not cared.

Despair and grief had clung to him like a dark, impenetrable coat. It had been what shielded him by day from the others, but it had not helped at night. When darkness had settled over Atlantis and no distractions, no little crisis or problem was waiting to be solved, the overwhelming loneliness of survival had threatened to eat him whole.

On one night – he remembered it clearly, would remember it till the end of his days –, he had been standing at the edge of the balcony, his hands grasping the railing behind him tightly. Beneath him, the city had sparkled in the light of the moons of their new planet. The ocean had been calm and beautiful. Just like she had been. Grief, which he had tried to bury deep in his soul, which none on Atlantis had seen, had slammed into him like a knife. It had twisted his heart and he had been unable to breath.

In this one second, he had been fully prepared to throw himself into the abyss. Oblivion, he had thought, would be kinder to him than his life was.

And he would have done it, had it not been for the calm, authoritative voice from beside him. He had squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to believe it.

"I am hallucinating. I am hallucinating." He had murmured, but in the end he had not been able to not turn around.

"You do know that it is a long way down." Her voice, the beloved, unmistakable voice that had haunted both his sleeping and his waking dreams, had casually commented.

There, in all her glory, she had stood, leaning against the railing, a soft smile playing across her lips. One of her eyebrows had been lifted in her typical is-this-another-one-of-your-stupid-stunts way and her arms had been crossed against her chest.

Perhaps, it had been the situation, the craziness of it all, but, suddenly, laughter had erupted in his chest, tinged with the despair and pain that was killing him inside.

"You're not real. Never real. Never real." He had shaken his head, his eyes wild, but not moving away from her figure, drinking her in as long as he could.

Slowly, her left hand had reached towards him, settling over his right cheek. He had felt the warmth of her touch, though he had not been able to tell, if she had truly touched him or not. A gasp had escaped him, a shudder of immeasurable pleasure, for it had felt like love and forgiveness, when she had caressed him.

"Not real. Not real." He had murmured again, but this time it had been softer, the madness in his voice disappearing.

"Does it matter?" She had asked. He had opened his eyes by then and had seen her perched on the railing, precariously balancing on it and despite the fact that he had been prepared to jump, a strange panic had gripped him at the sight of her so close to danger. Of course, she had not seemed to be bothered by that fact. Her hand had continued caressing him, her face only inches away from his. The beautiful green eyes had mesmerized him and all thoughts of letting himself fall had been swept from his mind by her presence. "Does it really matter if I am real or not, John?" She had continued to ask. "Even if I'm not real, only your subconsciousness, do you think the real Elizabeth would approve of you throwing your life away for nothing?"

She had sounded so logical, so _Elizabeth_, that somewhere inside him, he had believed that it was her. A deep need to justify his actions had appeared in him then.

"Without you here, there is nothing left." He had whispered then.

"But I am always by your side." She had retorted and he had believed her.

It had been the beginning of his miraculous healing.

From that point onwards, she was by his side every second of the day, soothing his doubts, allaying his fears, being the voice of reason, when he could not think clearly. All though the various crises, she was beside him, giving advice, protecting their city from the shadows.

He still didn't know if she was real or not. Perhaps the Elizabeth only he could see was a figment of his imagination, born from his despair, from his madness or maybe she was…something else.

John didn't know which answer he preferred. If this was truly her – and in the heart of hearts he believed exactly that –, then there was no way he could save her, because she was dead. But if this Elizabeth was only a product of his mind, then he didn't want to know it. There was a reason, he figured, why he invoked her image, why he craved her presence.

"They are waiting for me to have a breakdown." He stated quietly, feeling her presence like he had always been able to. The slight breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it the salty taste of the ocean. It was night now, hours after the fake Elizabeth Replicator had led her brethren through the stargate and into the cold arms of space. For a long time none of his team had let him be by himself, fearing that the fragile peace that had settled over him for the last year would break because of this new development.

"And? Are you having one?" The question was asked casually, as if she didn't care about it at all. But he knew better. Glancing at her, he saw concern shining in her eyes. It didn't matter what she was – real or not – because, in the end, she was the only one he could find solace in. Even now.

"No." He answered simply and was surprised that it was true.

"Do you not fear that this was the real Elizabeth Weir?" Her green eyes met his and he could see true curiosity in them. It was unusual for him to react so unemotionally when she was in danger and both of them knew it.

"No." There was unmistakable conviction in his voice. No doubt and no hesitation when he had answered her. He was certain in his belief.

"Why not?"

John smiled at her, his eyes softening and warming.

"Because I would have known." And he would have. There were things that John simply felt. He felt Atlantis, its magnificent towers, its gleaming spires and its wondrous power. He felt Puddle Jumpers and airplanes, their movements and their speed. And he had always been able to feel her.

This strange awareness of each other had been instantaneous, the first time being in that ice cavern in Antarctica. He remembered it well. It had been just coincidence that he had sat down in that strange chair and was in possession of the ATA gene. Now, secretly, he believed that their meeting had been fate.

Their eyes had met and the connection had suddenly been there. It had been – and still was, as Elizabeth was beside him, damn it! – something that had made their way of leading fast, governed by instincts and a deep, unbreakable trust. Even though they had their differences in opinion, when it counted, they were always there to support the other.

Had it not been for their renewed contact with Earth after the first year out in Pegasus, John believed firmly that their feelings for each other would have cumulated into a physical relationship sooner. With the reminder of the IOA, it had taken them longer, though they still crossed the line that had separated friendship from physical intimacy, from being lovers.

It had only been one night; a night following a day full of grief for their mutual friend and comrade in arms. They had met on an abandoned balcony, far from the center of the city, both wrapped up in their loss and pain. Their coming together had been violent at first, both feeling the need of making sure that _they _still lived.

Carson's death had been so needless, so unworthy of what and who he had been, that it had shaken them to the core. The gentle, Scottish doctor had been among the best of them, his compassion a guiding light for the rest of the Expedition. It had shaken them up, driving the point home that no one was safe. If Carson had been killed, who would be next? The question had plagued many, but especially those who stayed on Atlantis, who didn't belong to a reckon team.

Remembering their own mortality, they had crashed together in a mass of tangled limbs, soft kisses and scorching eyes. A low growl erupted from his chest, as he remembered the way she smelled and felt and tasted. And though he had always been certain of it, he had never been surer of anything in his life, as at that point in time, when she had locked eyes with him in that moment of abandon, the love she felt for him was as clear as crystal water from a newborn spring and as all consuming as the hottest of flames.

"The eyes of the Replicator…they were not yours."

They had been colder, more calculating than he had ever seen them be. And although he knew that there was a side to Elizabeth Weir, that could and would be like this if the situation called for it, she had never looked at him like that. Not once.

Her eyes sparkled with the knowledge and certainty that statement brought.

"Now I only have to deal with Woolsey." He sighed heavily, wondering not for the first time, how someone like that man could be given the command of an outpost in such a dangerous galaxy. The man's stupidity and bureaucratic rules were slowly driving him up the wall.

Her soft, mischievous giggle made him glare at her in mock anger.

"Yeah, laugh it up! You're not the one who has to listen to him."

"Well, that's a benefit of being dead, isn't it?"

His expression softened slightly.

"Are you?"

"What? Dead?"

She stepped closer to him, hugging him, her face only inches from his. Instead of answering him right away, she studied him with a serene smile, her fingers caressing his cheeks slightly.

"Is that really something you'd like to know?"

He snorted, his lips quirking in momentary bitterness.

"If the woman you love – who, by the way, is supposed to be dead – is always by your side, but nobody can see her, then you begin to wonder if everything's alright with you."

"And it is?"

Immediately, he wanted to say `no`. Of course nothing was alright. She was still only a phantom, no matter imagined or not. But then, he replayed all the moments he had experienced with her since she had suddenly appeared on the day he had wanted to jump. He could feel her, taste her and see her. Her presence was like a soothing balm for his soul.

"Not completely, but it would have been worse, had you not decided to appear to me on that day."

"Then it's good that I did."

And with that she leaned forward and covered his lips with hers, moaning softly in her pleasure.

"Do not worry, John. Soon, you will be completely OK. That, I promise you."

Looking into her loving eyes, he believed her. She had been the first to trust him, to believe in him and to love him completely. It had earned her his utter devotion and his soul. If she promised him salvation, then he believed her. If she asked for his life, he would give it freely.

Because that's what love was: the complete surrender of one's soul.

And he had willingly given her his a long time ago.


End file.
